


Idongeda

by Miss_Peletier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Marcus as a Grounder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-04-01 03:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13989999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Peletier/pseuds/Miss_Peletier
Summary: On the eve of war with Mount Weather, one grounder clan appears to seek a lasting peace and trade agreement with the Sky People. Chancellor Abby Griffin is reluctant to trust their leader, Marcus, knowing how quickly enemies form from the ashes of alliances...though the benefits of his proposal outweigh the costs.She eventually finds herself drawn not only to the possibility of peace, but to Marcus himself. But there are some - on both sides - who would sooner see both leaders dead than their groups unified.





	1. Gunfire

“Get him inside,” Abby ordered the guards with a pointed glance at the unconscious Emerson. “We can figure out what to do with him later.”

The guards and Clarke nodded then proceeded on, meeting Raven at the entrance to Camp Jaha. Abby heard her volunteer to hook up the scrubbers in an airlock to pull in outside air, and Clarke agreed to her plan. They both turned to her in the yellow glow of the doorway, and she approved with a nod.

“And get him to Medical,” Abby said, addressing the other half of their team – the half that held the grounder who had been struck by a bullet meant for Clarke. He’d been moaning in pain off and on for the entire journey back, bleeding held in check only through constant pressure on the wound. Saving him would be a feat, nothing short of a miracle.

She swallowed hard and stole a quick glance at the stars. The night was oddly quiet for the chaos it held within Camp Jaha's walls; the concern over finding one of the Mountain Men, questions swirling about what to do with him, how best to get information out of him. The cloudless sky and twinkling lights almost appeared to mock her, presenting a façade of peace discordant with the constant battles they’d been fighting since coming to Earth.

“Abby!” she heard a familiar voice rising above their people’s chatter. 

“Jackson,” she said, a sigh of relief slipping past her lips as they strode toward each other and met in the middle. There was a comforting familiarity in seeing her assistant again; a kind of backwards reassurance that everything might be okay despite the hellfire outside the gates. After all, if they could survive oxygen deprivation and the trip down to Earth together, what was one more war?

“We need to get to Medical. Now,” she said. “There’s an injured grounder we need to treat.”

Jackson nodded, falling into step at her right side.

“I saw the guards bringing him in. What happened out there?” he asked, his tone falling somewhere between nervous and curious. Abby was suddenly reminded that he’d rarely been outside the gates. Jackson was still relatively innocent to the dangers of Earth, factoring out Trikru’s punishment of Finn. She wondered how long he’d be able to stay that way.

“We were attacked,” she said simply, brushing aside strips of plastic that served as doors, holding them so Jackson could move through at her heels.

“Are you all right?” Jackson asked, his eyes widening. “Was it grounders? Other…other grounders?”

Abby shook her head. Her footsteps echoed on the steel grates as her pulse soared, thoughts thirty feet in front of her to what awaited in Medical. In some form she was already pulling out tools from the cabinets, scrubbing her hands, pulling on her surgical gloves. Now, she thought, was probably not the best time to have a discussion about what happened on the trail back from Tondc. Or what happened in Tondc. Or how it seemed their entire alliance with Trikru hung by a rapidly-fraying thread.

“Abby?” Jackson reiterated, and despite her misgivings she knew she could deny him the truth no longer. But he wouldn’t get much of it before they arrived, and she decided to be selective with what she offered him. The rest could wait.

“It was Mount Weather,” she said. “They were trying to kill Clarke and their commander.”

“Is that who the other one is? I saw them bringing someone else in.”

“Yes,” Abby said. “Clarke wanted to keep him for questioning.”

The flashing lights of Medical were almost blinding after the darkness outside, and Abby found herself squinting to adjust her vision. There appeared to be a blurry haze around everything in her line of sight – a side effect, she figured, of exhaustion – and she hoped it would go away when it came time to perform surgery. Never mind that when her fingers touched that bullet wound, her heart would lurch at the memory that it had been meant for her daughter. 

Her chest felt tight, but that was a feeling to which she’d grown accustomed. A racing heart, a tight throat, trembling hands…those were nothing new. What was new was the one thought orbiting and ricocheting off the walls of her head, pounding like a war drum in time with the headache she’d developed on the way home.

_She could have died today._

And Abby didn’t know what was more frightening: the fact that Mount Weather wanted her daughter dead and could get close enough to her to see it through, or that Clarke didn’t seem too shaken by the ordeal. They’d discussed what happened before she and the others had arrived on the ground, though not to any great length – Clarke always had somewhere to be, and no sooner had her feet touched the soil than there were more problems to be solved. Yet the impending battle and various other difficulties weren’t enough to suppress her motherly instinct, and part of her wondered how awful those days had been for Clarke not to so much as shed a tear over an assassination attempt. What had they done to these kids by sending them down here? And how could she reconcile the regret that bubbled to the surface unbidden when she thought about the horrors her daughter had faced down here alone?

Well, not alone. She had Bellamy, and Octavia, and Raven. At least there was some comfort in that, she thought; while her daughter had already fought a war, she’d never been alone.

_She could have died today._

“Madam Chancellor.”

Major Byrne, the head of the guard, waited for her outside Medical. She stood stiffly in the beams of white light, her back as straight as the steel posts holding the station together. “Smith and Isaacs were just here. They placed the patient on the cot in the far corner.”

“Thank you, Byrne,” she said, moving to step past. Byrne moved too, blocking her entrance. Clenching her jaw, Abby waited for a line out of the Exodus Charter that condemned what she was doing.

“Are you sure this is the best course of action?” Byrne asked, her expression making it clear where she stood on the matter. “You’ve brought back an assassin-“

“Whose only interest was in Clarke. He’s from Mount Weather-“

“And you’re not monitoring him.”

Her patience wearing thin, Abby forcibly squelched the rage boiling in her chest and did her best to adopt a tone of gentle, reassuring reasonableness.

“He’s unconscious. I told Clarke to let me know if anything changes,” Abby said, her voice flat, emotionless. Not at all the way she’d intended it to sound, but she had bigger things to worry about. “I didn’t think we should start our alliance with Trikru by refusing to treat their wounded. Not likely to inspire confidence, especially with Indra coming back to train with us in a few days.”

A few moments passed in tense silence, neither party conceding defeat. Deciding she’d had enough, Abby said, “Go stand watch at the gate, Major.”

The head of the guard held eye contact with her for a second longer, jaw clenched, before storming off down the hallway.

“You never answered my first question,” Jackson noted quietly as they entered, opened and closed the door with a faint hiss.

Too tired to be startled at his sudden inquiry, Abby turned her head to be certain Jackson couldn’t see her, frowned, gave an inaudible sigh. What had his first question been? It seemed like a lifetime ago now, every minute on the ground stretching for days and bursting at the seams with nonstop complications and threats. Her head hurt, and her body hurt, and her heart hurt.

“I’m fine, Jackson,” she said, wrapping the straps of the surgical mask behind her ears. Commotion sounded from behind her, and she was relieved to see him beginning to amass the necessary supplies for the surgery. She began to gather her things and pulled her hair back into a ponytail before submerging it under a cap.

Jackson’s empathetic gaze as they made their way toward the patient was enough to make her think he might have called her bluff, but now wasn’t the time for soul-bearing honesty. Honesty was a luxury she couldn’t afford with a patient on her operating table.

As Chancellor, she couldn’t break. As comfortable as she was around him, the leader inside her held exclamations of emotion in check and brushed tears from her eyes before they had a chance to form. As a doctor, she had a patient to treat and had begun assessing the patient’s condition. As a mother, the sight of the bullet wound – red, enflamed, angry – made her stomach flip.

_She could have died today._

* * *

Scrubbing her hands vigorously in the tiny, spluttering sink, Abby looked up to find David Miller standing a respectable distance away. She turned off the trickling flow of water, watched the final drops swirl down the drain. With a sigh she expelled the regret of losing a patient; the grounder man’s injuries had been too severe to treat. Pangs of remorse had run through her when his pulse went quiet, as she and Jackson had switched from a hastily constructed Plan A to whatever might keep their patient alive. After all, he’d taken a bullet meant for Clarke. Though it might not have been intentional, he gave his life for the alliance between them, to keep her daughter alive.

Losing patients was part of the job. Losing patients who had given their life for her daughter…less so.

David stood awkwardly in the center of the room, seemingly unsure how to deliver the information he’d been given. Abby decided to alleviate the suspense for him.

“Do you have news for me?”

“Chancellor Griffin, “ he said, voice shaking slightly. “You have visitors.”

Abby peeled off her bloodstained scrubs and dropped them in a bin. 

“Visitors?” Abby asked. She took her hair down from the ponytail in which she’d tied it for surgery, ran her fingers through it once to tease it back into a state of normalcy. “Indra and her people aren’t supposed to be here yet.”

Already she was trying to do the math: the grounders could sleep in the clearing, and needless to say they could provide for themselves in terms of food and water. They probably had a better handle on the planet than her people. But she’d hoped to get the Emerson situation under control before Indra returned – she’d advocate for torture, Abby was certain, considering she’d told Octavia to finish him off – and truth be told, she wasn’t sure torture was the best course of action. There were more ways to get information from a man than to threaten his life.

“No, ma’am,” David said. “But they're grounders. Two of them. I don’t think they’re Trikru.”

Were there _other_  clans besides Trikru? To her knowledge, Lexa and Indra’s people were the only ones who had survived the radiation. David, she thought, was probably unaccustomed to seeing the variety of appearances the grounders could take.

“Did they say why they’re here?” she asked, grabbing her jacket off an empty cot and pulling it on in one fluid motion. She hadn’t realized how cold Medical was until she was encased by its warmth, and silently she hoped the rest of the camp wasn’t quite so frigid. Otherwise, this would be a question for the already-overloaded team of Raven and Sinclair. Neither of whom, she thought, would appreciate one more item on their to-do list.

She was close enough to David now to see the look in his eyes; the startled, almost fearful emotions churning in his dark brown gaze. Whoever these visitors were, they’d done a number on this guardsman.

“We’re not sure,” Miller said slowly, as if realizing she’d need time to digest the information he was about to give. “They only spoke their language.”

“I’ll meet with them,” Abby volunteered. Her command of Trigedasleng was rudimentary at best, but she might have enough of a grasp to at least determine their purpose. “We need to know why they’re here.”

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hall – their meeting was about to grow one person larger. A flash of yellow-blonde hair confirmed Abby’s suspicions: it was Clarke.

Pushing past David as though he were nothing more than a mirage, Clarke stood before her and delivered a piece of news she had no desire to hear.

“Emerson’s awake,” she said. “Raven got the airlock working. I’m going to start interrogating him, but we thought you should be there.”

Abby took a deep breath. What should take precedence, the Mountain Man or the mystery grounders? Sending away the visitors could set a bad precedent for future negotiations. If she came off as disrespectful, the alliance could be in danger. But now that Emerson was awake, they needed answers.

Her split-second hesitation was enough to stir recognition in her daughter’s blue eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

David answered before she had a chance. “There are grounders at the gate.”

Clarke blinked rapidly in stunned shock, tilted her head slightly to the side.

“But Lexa said the warriors wouldn’t be here until-“

“The sundown after next,” Abby finished for her, beginning to walk toward the hallway and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as she moved past. “I know.”

“We can’t order them away,” Clarke said, falling into step at her right side and David at her left. Abby entered the code to open the door, the light flickered green, and they continued their procession. “I don’t want to risk her trust.”

“They aren’t dressed like the others,” David interjected, their people shifting to the sides of the hallways to allow them uninterrupted passage. “I don’t think they’re the same clan that killed Finn Collins.”

Clarke flinched – almost imperceptibly – at the sound of his name, and Abby had to wage war with the urge to gather her in her arms while giving David a steely, angered glare. While it might have felt like a lifetime had passed since the boy’s execution – or rather, Clarke’s mercy killing – in reality it had been no longer than a few days. Reminders of his death were the last thing her daughter needed right now, especially with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“And they didn’t speak English?” Clarke said. “They didn’t mention their clan name?”

“Not that I heard,” David said. “The other guards were questioning them when I left.”

 _That’ll do plenty of good if they don’t speak English,_ Abby thought.

Clarke went quiet for a moment. “Lexa told me there were others, but I assumed they weren’t close.”

A flash of annoyance coursed through her – Clarke couldn’t have shared the information about the clans with her before their members showed up on Camp Jaha’s doorstep? – but she doused it quickly as she remembered the events of the day. Undoubtedly, that was information she meant to share after Emerson’s interrogation. Which now, with the arrival of their unexpected visitors, would have to be pushed back a few hours.

Abby quickened her pace, realizing “questioning” meant something different to the guard than it did to her. Tondc had opened her eyes to the similarities between their people, but the vast majority of hers hadn’t been in the city. There was a fine line between asking questions and making demands, and the guard might cross it for the sake of her protection.

They couldn’t afford to start another war when they’d just entered one.

“You can start the interrogation without me,” Abby said as they turned a corner, the starry sky waiting for her at the end of the corridor. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” Clarke said, her tone measured and even. “Lexa probably sent word to them about the alliance, but…”

“They also might also be here to start a war,” Abby finished for her. “If they don’t know about the ceasefire.”

Clarke’s shoulders rose as she took a deep breath, her seawater eyes stormy. If they weren’t torn between two problematic fronts Abby knew she would have requested to join the meeting. Of their leadership she was the sole member who had had the most contact with Lexa, and it was her quick thinking that made the alliance a reality.

If she was being completely honest with herself, Abby Griffin was frightened. The alliance was yet in its infancy, and the knowledge of other clans shook her to her core. Memories of Finn – and what Lexa had done to Raven – were fresh in her memory. As much as she wanted to have faith in Lexa’s word, her default was to approach with hopeful, optimistic skepticism.

Clarke seemed to sense her fears and reached for her hand. “They wouldn’t go against their Commander,” she said with a gentle squeeze, and Abby wondered whom she was truly reassuring: her mother or herself. “If they went against Lexa’s orders they could be-“

Just then, as if triggered by Clarke’s words, the sound of gunshots echoed through the metallic hallway.

_Dammit._

Chagrined, Abby thought she should have known better than to think everything would go smoothly in her absence. Their people were too different, too unfamiliar with each other, animosity bred from mistaken understanding and cultures colliding. Shouts of protest also wound their way through the dimly-lit hall, harsh and discordant, and Abby knew they could delay no longer. It was time to step out into the chaos, into whatever foggy future awaited.

“I’ll see you soon,” she told Clarke, dropping her hand. “Let me know if anything changes with Emerson.”

“I will,” Clarke said. Her eyes said she wished to say more, to give her mother reassurance that everything would be all right, but her feet carried her away. Abby watched her go with an ache in her chest. Although she’d only be across camp, she bit back a " _may we meet again."_

Once Clarke left, David turned to her. His hand rested on the rifle on his right hip, his expression blank.

“Chancellor Griffin,” he said, heading toward the commotion. “Stay here. I’ll come back for you when it’s safe.”

“No,” Abby protested, catching up with him in a few lengthy strides. “They need to see me.”

She brushed past him and out into the night, ready for whatever fate awaited her. And as her pulse echoed in her ears, reminding her with every beat of a sound that could be silenced if their visitors were violent, she forced herself to look straight ahead and keep her chin up. Indra had respected her for remaining steady with a sword to her throat, and if today went a similar route…at least she’d know what to do. How ironic, she thought, that she could be thankful to Indra for placing her life in danger: in a way, it had been practice. A rehearsal for whatever she might endure. _Just another day on the ground._

David trailed behind her, ready to aim and fire at a second’s notice. The assembled crowd parted to allow them through, clearing a path for her from the entrance to the station to the wire gate on the outskirts of the camp. In the deepening night she could barely make out the hazy forms in the mist, outlined by pale moonlight. There appeared to be two of them, both dismounted from their horses, idling just outside the Camp Jaha sign.

As she came closer, details sharpened. One of them was significantly taller than the other. Their clothes, tattered and torn, layered with buckles and straps, were bright: a mixture of navy blues and earthy greens that even nighttime couldn’t dull. Her guards had surrounded them in a human wall, startling their horses. Their whinnies combined with barked orders and Trigedasleng, and Abby, lurching into a jog, realized she should have arrived long ago.

It was impossible to tell how much damage had been done by overreacting members of the guard, how those gunshots might affect their alliance with Trikru. Or perhaps, she thought with alarm as the reached the core of the conflict, it was: the smaller of the grounders was holding his left side. A flash of white teeth revealed his grimace, and his companion spoke to him in a hushed murmur.

“You _shot_ him?” Abby said, incredulous. She aimed her most scathing glare at the head of the assembled guards; the one she’d reserved for Thelonious on the Ark, when he’d been particularly disagreeable. “Why?”

Byrne was unrepentant, jaw clenched. “Ma’am, they tried to enter our camp without permission. They gave us no inclination as to what they’re doing here. I won’t let grounders inside our walls without knowing what they want.”

“So you resorted to violence,” she spat, enraged. She understood their reluctance to trust the grounders. That much, after all they’d been through, was justified. But if they wanted to preserve their alliance with Trikru and get the kids out of Mount Weather, pulling the trigger without forethought could no longer be their first line of defense. “Never do this again, Major.”

Her gaze drifted from Byrne to the pair before them, the injured half’s labored breathing and gritted teeth. The taller of the pair caught her eye, watching her with a cautious gaze as he did his best to keep pressure on his companion’s wound.

“ _Sis em au_ ,” he said, his tone conveying a quiet plea. “ _Beja_.”

Her understanding of the language may have been rudimentary, but she could guess what he meant. A chill ran through her when the pieces clicked together; at least for now, they needed each other. It was impossible to fake the desperation in his tone, the soft appeal to their shared humanity.

“He needs help,” Abby insisted, still staring at the man who’d spoken to her. “Stand down.”

A few of the younger guardsmen resisted with brows furrowed, keeping their weapons trained on the outsiders.

“ _Stand down_!” Abby reiterated, firm. All weapons were holstered. “I’m taking him to Medical.”

“Madam Chancellor,” Byrne said, placing a hand on Abby’s arm that she immediately shrugged off. “I don’t think we should-“

“He asked me to help him,” Abby said, tilting her head in the direction of the grounder who had spoken to her. It was a white lie as far as she knew, but none of the guard would tell her any differently. “They’re not here to hurt us.”

“Or it could be a ruse,” Byrne suggested sharply. “Why should we use our supplies on them?”

“Because I’m not going to let our alliance dissolve on an unfounded suspicion,” Abby said. “We don’t know they’re here to hurt us. He’ll bleed out if I don’t treat him.”

Byrne gave her typical disapproving scowl, but said nothing more on the subject. Instead she instructed her officers to back down, giving Abby a larger space with which to approach their visitors.

Her feet sank into the damp soil with each step she took, the tread of her boots leaving imprints in the ground. Moving toward them felt strenuous, exhausting, and it briefly occurred to her that she hadn’t slept for the past day. Jackson, she knew, would advise her to get some rest, let him do the surgery himself. Yet there was something magnetic about the pair – something intriguing - that made her want to trust them. To hope she could.

From less than a yard away, she could tell there was a considerable age difference between the pair. The one who had been shot – going to great lengths to conceal his pain – was young, his age evidenced by the lack of lines on his forehead. The one who had spoken to her was older, wisps of silver peppered into his beard, his brown hair half-pulled into a ponytail. 

“Let me help him,” she said, addressing the elder of the two. “I can help him, if you let me.”

He nodded and replied with something Abby didn’t understand, and not for the first time she wished Clarke were with her instead of with Raven and Emerson. Her daughter had grasped the language quickly and might have been able to translate, but for now she’d have to move to a shaky second plan.

With the eyes of Camp Jaha trained on her, Abby began walking back toward the station and beckoned for the grounders to follow.

“This way,” she said softly. “Come with me.”

Still holding his side, the younger grounder moaned in pain. She was relieved to note the wound appeared, at least at first glimpse, to not have punctured any of his vital organs. That said, his attempts to walk were unsuccessful: he stumbled on his first step toward her. Sensing his pain, his companion picked him up and, with an arm under his shoulders, supported him through the mud.

“Take care of the horses,” Abby said to a few guards. They mumbled assent and stepped forward.

Slowly, as to keep herself well within their line of sight, Abby and the grounders proceeded toward Medical. Jackson ran into them inside the station, almost colliding with her in their hasty procession.

“Jackson. We have to treat him,” she said, words tumbling out in a rush. “He’s been shot.”

Jackson glanced from her to the injured grounder and the man holding him in her wake, giving her a terse nod. He took the younger boy’s other arm.

The journey to Medical felt longer than usual, what with the array of questions steadily raising her heart rate. What if they’d provoked the guard? What if they were dangerous, and she’d led them straight into the soul of their camp? She and Byrne were already on thin ice, and another blow could plunge her Chancellorship underwater.

Without breaking stride Abby gave a quick glance backward, taking in the image of the two visitors. The boy had almost lost consciousness, his feeble steps faltering. Jackson and his companion were dragging him now; her assistant gritted his teeth under the boy’s weight, while the man opposite him remained silent. Even if he were equally burdened, she’d hardly expect a grounder to display such weakness.

However, in studying his expression, Abby saw something that gave her pause: the same genuine concern she’d seen outside the camp. When the man turned his head to check on his partner, the expression he wore was not one of conniving, scheming, or glee. This hadn’t been a ruse to attack their camp. This was, put simply, an accident that had been waiting to happen, a land mine of prejudice and inexperience the man and boy had stepped on.

The man turned his head, and their eyes met for a heartbeat of a moment. The look in his eyes was one she knew all too well – she’d seen it mirrored in her own. It was the look she’d worn when they dragged Clarke in from the woods, accusing her of being a grounder. It was the look she’d worn when her daughter was sent down to the ground, punished for the sin of trying to save her father. That desperation was familiar, and a swell of pity rose in her chest.

Then, for the second time that day, Abby Griffin arrived in Medical to treat an injured grounder.

“Put him on the bed,” she ordered, gesturing to the cot nearest to the door. “Jackson, get the med kit.”

She made her way over to the patient, realized suddenly that he could be no older than fifteen. He was younger than Clarke, yet he accompanied his elder on a mission into territory she could only assume they knew would be dangerous. While Abby admitted she respected the grounders on certain things – their continual loyalty to each other and their leader, not to mention their knowledge of the Earth – she would never understand their penchant for turning children into ruthless, bloodthirsty warriors.

“ _Na ai sis au_?” the second grounder said, the lilt at the end of his sentence making it clear he was asking a question. Faintly, in the back of her mind, she remembered him saying something similar at the gates. “ _Sis au_ ” sounded familiar…could it mean ‘help’? Was he asking them to help? Was he asking if he could help? Was he asking them what they were going to do to help?

Frustration coiled in her chest, hot and urgent and aching. With no way to communicate, it was almost impossible to convey what was happening. Why would one of the clans send ambassadors that didn’t speak English? Certainly they had to know that was her people’s only language.

“He’s going to be okay,” Abby said, doing her best to give meaning through her tone and expression. “We’re going to help him.”

“ _Sis em au_ ,” the grounder repeated, the bright colors of his clothing a stark contrast to the muted, tense atmosphere of the room. “ _Beja_.”

Abby, overwhelmed and underprepared, stomach sinking as though it were encased in quicksand, only gave him a nod and turned back to her patient.

* * *

 “He’s going to be all right,” Abby said an hour later, expelling leftover adrenaline from her system with a deep sigh.

Across the cot, she saw Jackson visibly relax.

“So, now we wait for him to wake up,” Jackson assumed, eyes wide, leaning away from the patient as he carefully removed his mask. He returned to his side of the room, removing his scrubs and cap with a slow, exhausted exhale. “There’s nothing else we can do until then.”

Abby glanced over at the boy’s companion. He stood in the corner of the Med bay, unobtrusive, watching them go about their surgery without so much as a sound. A few times during the process, Abby wondered if he’d fallen asleep: he was perfectly quiet, even his breathing soundless. But awake he remained, standing his post, watching over the boy as they extracted the bullet and tended to the wound.

She’d be damned if she just waited around for the boy to wake up. Not when there were other things to be done…answers she needed to have.

“You can go home, Jackson,” Abby said. “Thank you for your help.”

Jackson frowned: he knew her well enough to know she had no intention of idly standing by.

“What are you going to do, Abby?”

“I’m going to figure out why they’re here,” she said, determined.

Jackson sighed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m sure you could ask one of the guards to do it,” he said. “There has to be one of them you trust.”

“No,” Abby said. “They shot his partner. If anyone talks to them, it should be me.”

“You need rest, too,” Jackson reminded her. “But if you’re sure-“

The grounder was still looking at her, his brown eyes and dark hair paired with an expression she found entirely unreadable. There was something magnetic in it: something to be uncovered.

“I am."

“All right,” he said. “Let me know if anything changes.”

Abby watched him go, the doors of Medical slipping closed behind him. Once he’d faded to a speck in the distance, his form blurred into silver metal and dangling wires, Abby turned to the grounder. He was still staring at her with a curious intensity, unflinching and steadfast as she approached him from across the room. Seconds slipped away as she tried to think of a plan – some way to make him understand her questions – and she decided to do her best in returning to her old method. Gestures and expressions had worked well enough.

In the light it was easier to see him, to observe the tiny scar on his left cheek, the intricate dye work on his jacket that had turned it a fascinating gradient of blues, grays, and greens. Like all of the grounder clothes she’d seen, his outfit was layered: a strip of red fur trailed from his shoulder to mid-torso, dangling off a makeshift green vest he’d zipped over the blue jacket. 

Sensing she’d delayed long enough, Abby decided it was time to start talking.

“He’s going to be all right,” she said, starting off slow.

The man studied her for a long moment, his eyes the color of soil in the rain as he looked her over. After what seemed like an eternity he shattered the silence, his words clear and pronounced, his voice rich, deep, and warm.

“Thank you for saving his life.”


	2. A Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I realized something that might be a little confusing. Miller - Marcus' companion - is Nathan Miller from the show, but for the purposes of this fic he isn't related to David Miller on Abby's guard. They're both the same characters as they are on the show, though. 
> 
> Also, for words/phrases in Trig, going forward I'll put the translation in the notes at the end of the chapter.

“You speak English,” Abby said, her voice low under the weight of disbelief and anger. “This whole time, you could have-“

The grounder gave her a long, measured look, one that conveyed both regret and steadfastness. She found truth lurking inside his soil-brown irises, shifting quietly in the gentle, rich lilting of his perfect English.

“You _planned_ this,” she said, taken aback. “You knew we’d shoot at him, and you let it happen.”

His clan might not have been Trikru, but they certainly seemed to operate under the same principles: this man had allowed a boy to get shot for the sake of their ruse. Risked the life of a child, all for their mysterious agenda. Appalled, Abby stiffened.

The grounder shook his head. “I think it would be best if we talked in private,” he said quietly, carefully. “I can explain.”

Abby’s gaze drifted to the long, polished sword that stretched the distance between his hip and his upper calf, resting in a scuffed sheath made from brown leather. Now that she knew what he was capable of, she wondered what else he had come to Camp Jaha to do. What that blade could do, if she stepped into a room alone with him. His eyes followed hers to the weapon, and she watched as his right hand slid toward the handle. Heart pounding, she took a step back and glanced down the hallway: there were guards at the end, standing watch over the corridors and enforcing curfew. If she screamed, they’d hear her, but there was no guarantee they’d reach her before the confrontation turned deadly.

The grounder seemed to notice her trepidation, reading her mind. “I mean you no harm,” he reassured her, drawing the blade only to place it gingerly on the cot next to him. “ _Ai swega yu kiln_.”

It was an unrequited duplicity blooming between them, since Abby still had no idea what he said when he slipped into Trigedasleng, though she could assume based on tone and body language. His actions rang with clarity, and Abby watched as he brought forth a few tarnished knives from his belt and laid them on the white sheets, purging himself of weaponry.

“I mean you no harm,” he repeated slowly. “Those are all the weapons I carry.”

“I’ll have my guards check,” she insisted, maintaining an air of interested detachedness as she inched closer to the door.

The man gave her a short, curt nod. “Of course,” he said. “I would do the same.”

Backing away, Abby punched in the code to open the door. She angled her body so her shaking hands were blocked from the grounder's view – the last thing she needed was to show weakness now. Her relationship with the culture was still in its infancy and it seemed, at every turn and any cost, that the grounders were determined to trick and undermine her people. After all, nothing had gone smoothly up until the alliance was finalized, and even those terms were built on a fault line, seemingly destined to split and erupt when Mount Weather was done.

The hiss of the door summoned her back to reality, and she took a deep breath and called to the guards: David Miller and another man who stood watch at the end of the hall. They approached without comment, and it occurred to her that they might not have been there to enforce curfew after all. It was far more likely, she thought, that Byrne had stationed them there to oversee the interactions between Abby and their visitors.

Under normal circumstances, she would have been annoyed. It wasn’t atypical for her to shrug off guard accompaniment and protocol – she could fend for herself on Earth ninety-nine percent of the time, and often resented being followed by a shadow with a shock baton that barked orders and trapped her in the ever-shrinking cage of the Exodus Charter. Tonight, however, was a different story, and their presence was less a necessary evil than it was a safety net.

“Madam Chancellor,” David said, “do you have news?”

“The injured patient is stable,” she said, knowing that wasn’t the information they were looking for and having nothing else to provide them.

“Do we know why they’re here?” his companion asked, nervousness eating away at the edges of his words as he glanced – with a kind of casual fearfulness – at the tall man in the room behind them. Even without weapons, the grounder was imposing; he was the kind of man who drew attention like a magnet, authority etched in his broad shoulders, his muscular arms, his smooth, resonant voice that would have seemed suited to address a crowd even in a whisper. Though she had little factual basis on which to build her assumption, she felt confident he was his group’s leader. 

“Not yet,” Abby said, choosing her words carefully, knowing each one of them would wind their way back to Major Byrne. “I need you to check him for weapons. He said those were all he had, but-“

“You need to be sure,” David interjected, finishing her sentence for her.

She nodded, and they strode through the doors together. The grounder complied with their security measures, barely flinching as David Miller’s hands grazed his torso and sides to check for hidden dangers.

Finding him as good as his word, the guardsmen declared him clear.

“I’ll keep these with the horses,” David volunteered, directing his statement at their visitor and Abby, in turn.

“Thank you, David,” Abby said. “First, take us to the War Room. I need to talk to our guest.”

Though not a syllable of the request was left in his hands, the grounder nodded once in agreement. He gave a final glance in his companion’s direction and murmured something in Trigedasleng, a surge of emotion crashing in his eyes, then turned to Abby.

“After you,” he said.

* * *

The War Room was, for all intents and purposes, just another room that had once been used for Council matters. Their entry into Earth’s atmosphere had rattled it – pounded dents into the steel table and cracked tiles on the floor – but it, just like the Charter, remained largely intact. Abby remembered attending meetings here, staring down Councilors and debating policies under these dull white lights.

There was a poetic irony in the fact that even after those days had passed, she found herself doing the same thing as she’d always done here. Wearing the same blank canvas of an expression that covered her emotions like the mask it was, trying to get a read on the man who sat across the table from her and studied her every bit as intently as she did him.

“Ask me anything you want to know,” the grounder said.

“Who are you?” she asked, barely restraining the rest of her inquiries from tumbling out in an avalanche of interrogation. A thousand questions battled for dominance on her lips, but this was the one creeping its way around the camp, the one creased in the furrow of the guards’ brows as they stood watch outside the door. 

“I am Marcus, clan leader of Idongeda,” he said simply, inclining his head in what would have been a bow, had he been standing. He spoke the name with a reverence, with a rhythm that seemed woven through his blood. It was clear, much like Indra and Lexa, that this man took great pride in his position and his people.

“Idongeda?” Abby repeated, frowning.

“Idongeda,” he repeated. “The Eden people. Our territory lies west of Trikru's boundary.”

Glancing around the room for one specific object, relief washed over her when she found what she was looking for. She stood, moving with stiff, aching strides to her desk and snatching a tattered map of the United States from its resting place beside an old Earth Skills textbook.

“Show me,” she said, laying the map flat in front of him. He scowled for a moment, squinted, as if the faded colors and ancient state lines meant as little to him as it did to those who had lived among the stars above those states for hundreds of years. Then, once he’d gotten his bearings, he outlined a long section that had once been parts of Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia – a conglomeration of land to the left of the border Lincoln had once given her for his people’s clan.

Chagrined, Abby realized this man – Marcus – could be lying and she wouldn’t know. Unless she sent guards out to verify his claims, they could be from anywhere: she had only his appearance and his word as evidence, neither of which offered enough proof for her to feel comfortable.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

It was a question she knew she’d be asked at least fifteen more times tonight, at least thrice by an irritable Thelonious who undoubtedly felt jilted that he hadn’t been invited to this meeting. But trust was a fickle, flickering thing, and Abby saw no reason to involve more people than necessary at this stage – especially when she, not him, wore the pin.

Marcus nodded, as if he held a map of their conversation and they’d arrived at the next checkpoint. It was uncanny, she thought, how well he could read her. First with the sword, now with her questions.

“Peace,” he said simply, wearing the same expression she’d witnessed earlier when he placed his weapons on the cot. “My companion and I journeyed from our territory to establish a permanent ceasefire. To create an alliance that surpasses the battle at Mount Weather.”

Abby hadn’t thought her expression had changed – she’d made an effort to carve her features in stone for the duration of their meeting – but he seemed to sense a shift.

“You don’t believe me,” he said.

“I don’t understand your logic,” she admitted, wondering if he could read her tone just as easily as he could the rest of her. “You rode all the way here and planned for your partner to be shot, all for the chance to talk?”

His gaze dropped to the table, and his tone softened.

“His injury was not part of my plan,” he said. “I told him to stay behind but he followed me, and paid a price that should have been mine.”

Abby remained silent, evaluating his story for legitimacy. It was something Clarke or Octavia would do, disobeying a direct order from their superior if they felt it was the right course of action. In fact, it was something _she’d_ done with regularity on the Ark.

Marcus continued. “My intent was only to evaluate your people and meet with your leader,” he said. “Miller complicated that. When he was hurt…I knew his injury could be healed, and realized this was your test. That if you helped him, that act would show your commitment to peace. You did.”

“But my guard shot him,” Abby said, disbelieving of his optimism when Trikru justice had been far more decisive and deadly. “You’re willing to let that go?”

He gave a brief smile, nothing more than a flash of white teeth against a background of tanned skin.

“I am no stranger to the reactions of warriors,” he said. “For many years, I was one. All is forgiven.”

As hard as she tried to squelch it, a rush of admiration swept through her. Idongeda seemed as different from Trikru as it was possible to be: if the same situation had occurred with a pair of Trikru ambassadors, it was unlikely several of her guardsmen would still be standing. Instead of starting a battle and deigning to make her people suffer for their transgression, Marcus had given them a second chance.

“Chancellor Griffin,” he said, her title and surname lilted in his dialect. "An alliance between our clans would be beneficial in a variety of ways. For both of us.”

“I agree, but we’re going to war soon,” she said simply, as though the fact didn’t cause her stomach to flip and sink and twist. War, within a few weeks of landing on the ground. In all their simulations and tests and preparations, she and Thelonious and the rest of the Council could never have anticipated something like this. “Are you offering to help us fight?”

A brief hesitation, filled by the muted sounds of citizens shuffling past in the hallway and the low drone of machinery humming. Her companion seemed to take time to assemble and organize his thoughts, spoke with a hollow propriety.

“The Commander is unifying the Twelve Clans for that purpose,” he said. “I will fight with you, but our alliance would be a separate agreement.”

“So you came here,” Abby said, slowly, “for a guarantee that we won’t attack your people? We don’t go looking for fights, Marcus. Whatever battles we've fought have been brought to us.”

He nodded, one corner of his bearded mouth quirking upward in a knowing smile. Undoubtedly, he had heard the stories: the war the kids fought before the rest of the Ark came down seemed the type of tale that would travel beyond Trikru lands.

“Have you thought about what you’ll do when this ends?” he asked. "Assuming no one brings battles to you?"

Taken aback, Abby swallowed hard; she believed in having hope, but placed emphasis on the necessity of facing reality. She hadn’t given much thought to what came after the battle – right now, she had a man in lockup who had tried to assassinate her daughter and a band of Trikru warriors to prepare accommodations for. Trying to see past that was like looking through acid fog: it was probably possible, but the effects would be fatal.

Not to mention that when the time came, when the war drums sounded, she knew her daughter would be leading the charge. Admittedly, it was difficult to think more than a few days ahead with the image of Clarke falling at Mount Weather’s gates seared into her nightmares.

“No,” Abby said, choosing her words carefully. “Trikru warriors will be coming to train with us the day after tomorrow,” she continued to explain, leaning forward on the table as if minimizing the distance between them would help prove her point. “Anything beyond that, I haven’t given much thought.”

"I understand," Marcus said. "Which is why I gave you my proposal today."

Marcus stared at her for a long moment, waiting. Was it stupid of her to sidestep his offer? Here he was, the leader of a grounder clan, offering her the thing she knew her people needed most. Would it be the wrong move to accept, with their future in turmoil? All things considered, it did seem like performing her duties in the wrong order – discussing peace before war.

Or, on the contrary, would cementing Marcus’ deal be the best move she could make? If something went wrong with Mount Weather – if something happened to her, or Clarke, or Lexa – at least her people would be guaranteed safety from the wrath of one clan, should Idongeda’s leader hold to his word. Keeping his proposal at arm’s length might seem logical in the present, but cementing an alliance would help secure a prosperous future.

“I accept,” she said, her tone level as she held his deep brown gaze, waiting to judge his true intentions through his response. “Peace between our groups is the only way we can move forward.”

He smiled, a bright, unburdened thing that shone white through the darkness of the shadows around them. It was impossible not to be caught off-guard him, at least in contrast to the other grounders she’d known. Marcus kom Idongeda had either truly desired a concrete ceasefire, or he was an incredibly gifted liar.

“Then I have a second offer,” he said, his tone light, victorious: he had gotten what he came for. “Tomorrow evening, my people will host a feast for yours. To celebrate.”

A hush blanketed their conversation, as Abby struggled to respond. She didn’t want to risk offending their newest ally, but now wasn’t the time for feasts and parties. Now was a time to develop strategy, train, and put plans into place. As kind as his offer was, it was equally mistimed.

“That’s generous, but I can’t spare the whole camp,” she said, hoping her words sounded like the logical reasoning of a Chancellor and not a hollow excuse. “Taking them away from their jobs won’t help us when the time comes to fight Mount Weather.”

She frowned, another anomaly in his story bubbling to the surface through the confused, exhausted murk of her mind.

“And how would you get them there?” she asked.

“Idongeda trains and breeds horses,” he responded, “But most of your people would be able to make the journey on foot. Our capitol is a few hours' walk from here.”

“Marcus, I can't,” she said. When he didn’t speak for a few seconds after her declaration, she continued talking to alleviate the tension. “We need to focus on getting our kids back.”

“Of course,” he said after a long pause.

Relief washed over her: the meeting was done. She could send him back to his companion, determine whether he was well enough to move, make a conjecture from there as to what to do with them for the night. If the boy could ride home, she could be free of this mess – just in time to dive into another crisis.

“Then I guess we’re done here,” she said. She hadn’t meant it as an insult, but her lack of sleep molded her tone into a razorblade. It was all she could do not to lay her head down on the table and give in to the ever-chanting portion of her brain – the doctor inside her – that continually insisted she needed rest. That she couldn’t make her best decisions on an hour of sleep here and there, sprinkled haphazardly throughout the day.

Absentmindedly, she wondered if Marcus could see her fatigue. If this made her weak, unfit to rule, in his eyes. Grounder justice and leadership was a curious thing, and she wasn’t always certain whether she fit the bill.

“Not yet,” Marcus said.

“I have to go,” Abby offered, trying everything in her power to annul the meeting. “My camp needs me. A few weeks from now, if you want to come back…we should be settled by then.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I understand you cannot allow all of your people to attend,” he said. “They are too large a group on the eve of war. But certainly, one could join us?”

Abby’s first thought was that Marcus probably wanted Clarke – if he had communication with the grounders’ Commander, which it appeared he did, then he likely knew all about her daughter. And while there was little doubt in her mind that Clarke would gladly accept a formal agreement of peace, there was no way she’d leave Camp Jaha unless it had to do with Lexa or Bellamy.  

On the other hand, she couldn’t send a random civilian to meet with the grounders. Most of them had barely accepted the Trikru alliance; after all, they had killed Finn instead of allowing justice to be served.

Ready to refuse him when he asked for her daughter, she said, “Who do you have in mind?”

“You,” he said, accompanying his request with a small smile, a soft glimmer in his eyes that reflected the light shining above.

Abby’s breath caught, choking a tiny gasp from between her parted lips. Part of her wondered why she hadn’t expected this – in hindsight, it was obvious – but she was so used to associating grounders with her daughter that she failed to make the most obvious connection. There was a reason she was in this meeting and not Clarke. Marcus had requested her then, and he was doing the same now.

There was an honor in that, she thought; where she wondered if Trikru saw her lack of propensity on the battlefield as a form of weakness, it seemed Idonkru – or Marcus, at least – found something of value in her ability to heal. Apparently, not all grounders valued warfare above all else.

Sensing her ironclad resolve beginning to melt, Marcus pressed on.

“I assure you, my people will offer a warm welcome," he said. "You saved Miller’s life, and he is well-loved in our village.”

Still uncertain how to respond, Abby waited for him to offer her something she couldn’t refuse. Fortunately, he did.

“And after the feast,” he said, “We can adjourn to my quarters and discuss strategies for Mount Weather.”

“Oh?” Abby said, finally finding her footing in their negotiation. Given how adamantly he’d refused her suggestion of his clan’s aid in battle, his sudden offer was a discordant, but not unwelcome, surprise.

“I cannot offer you anything the Commander has not already given,” he elaborated. “But I know how Trikru’s army thinks. I might be able to offer you suggestions on how to best facilitate relations between your groups. Lexa is hopeful that your partnership may bring down the Mountain once and for all.”

Then it was Abby’s turn to smile, although it was a gesture laden with uncertainty. “We all want what’s best for our people.”

They stared at each other. Uncomfortable in the silence – and how naked she felt in its embrace – Abby opened her mouth, intent on ending it. Marcus, however, spoke first.

“You do not need to answer now,” he said. “I’ll return at twilight tomorrow. If you wish to attend, you and I will go to my village. After the feast, I will take you back to your camp.”

Abby could only nod. “I’ll have an answer for you by then,” she said, reluctant to offer him more. She couldn’t promise she’d be available, but she could at least consider his offer.

To his credit, he didn’t seem to expect more than that. He gave a smile and a short nod, rising from his chair and extending his hand.

“To peace,” he said.

“To peace,” Abby responded, reaching forward to grasp his hand, hoping the promise behind his words was as strong as his grip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ai swega yu kiln - I swear it, I promise you
> 
> Also, another thing that might be important - I've decided to switch out the Blue Cliff clan for Idongeda, since...I don't think we've ever heard anything from Blue Cliff and I needed a territory for Marcus' people that wasn't years away from Camp Jaha. :') If you'd like to know exactly where their land is, here's the map I was using: http://the100.wikia.com/wiki/File:The_100_land.png


	3. A Foundation of Lies

“Are you sure about this?” Octavia asked, cocking an eyebrow in Abby’s direction. Sunset was almost upon them, with a first few brilliant streaks of orange painted in the corners of the purple sky. She slung her sword into its sheath on her back, and not for the first time, Abby had to remind herself that she was only sixteen. At times like this she appeared older: wearing her leather jacket, her hair in grounder braids, the ease with which she handled a weapon reminiscent of full-grown warriors.

They waited outside Camp Jaha’s gates, far enough from the sight of the guards as to not attract attention but close enough to camp to escape being spotted by _Trikru_. Marcus was supposed to arrive soon, and as much as Abby appreciated Octavia’s willingness to serve as her lookout and invisible bodyguard, she wondered when she planned on getting into position. If Marcus found her waiting with a sword slung across her back, his biggest question wouldn't be whether she intended to join him for the feast.

“I am,” Abby said, hoping she sounded somewhat confident. She knew enough about Octavia to understand she had never heeded authority well, and if she picked out a note of hesitation, she’d likely capitalize on an opportunity to make her uncomfortable. A side effect of being the girl who grew up under the floor. Not that Abby could blame her.

“It would’ve been better if you could have asked Lincoln,” Octavia noted, and Abby nodded. Lincoln would have been the best choice for…just about everything. He could have translated for Marcus when they first entered the camp, he could have helped her during their uncertain period of negotiations, and his knowledge of Idongeda would have been invaluable at a time like this. It was necessary for him to be at Mount Weather, but it was almost as vital that he returned to Camp Jaha when his mission ended.

Abby noticed something beyond pragmatism in Octavia’s tone = a light, brittle tension at the end of her sentence. She was worried about him.

“He’ll be fine,” Abby reassured her with a soft smile, and Octavia frowned.

“I know,” she retorted flatly, and Abby’s smile faded.

They were both quiet for a few moments, each as directionless in the extended, awkward silence as the other. Birds sang quietly in the trees, fluttering about overhead, and in the leaves, crickets chirped. It was a beautiful night – one too lovely to waste on her fears of what came tomorrow. For now, it would serve Abby best to focus on the moment.

“Should we go over the plan one more time?” she asked Octavia, trying to fill the empty air between them.

“Fine.”

Abby took a deep breath. “Marcus – their clan leader – told me their village is just south of _Trikru’s_ boundary. I need you to stay within distance for me to radio you in case…”

“In case they’re not as peaceful as they said,” Octavia finished for her, and Abby nodded - she swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and blowing it out silently, slowly.  “But Lincoln only told me horror stories about  _ Azgeda _ ,” Octavia offered. “Whoever these people are, they can't be worse.”

Abby didn’t bother asking who  _ Azgeda _ were – that, she reasoned, was a question for another time.

“Thank you, Octavia,” she said, and the girl gave her a short nod.

Shadows shifted in the distance, accompanied by the sound of crunching leaves. Octavia gave Abby one last glance of – appreciation? At the very least, tolerance? – before taking off for the treeline, just out of sight.

Though it lasted only a few moments, being alone affected Abby more than she would admit.

It was one thing to face her fate with Octavia by her side, or to lean on the reassurance that it was far away. Throughout the day she moved from conversations with Clarke and Jackson to discussions with Byrne about camp safety, endured questions from her people and Thelonious about the nature of the grounders’ arrival, and was fitted for an earpiece that would allow her and Octavia to communicate with each other. She’d barely had a moment to think about what would happen this evening, other than that it was, without a doubt, happening. But her  people needed all the information they could get in order to take down their enemy, and if gaining it placed her in a precarious position…it was a risk she’d have to take. There was no time to be wasted. If helping her people meant risking her life, she’d gladly place it on the line.

There was, still, the question of Marcus. Getting a read on him had proved difficult. He wasn’t hard and calculating like Indra and Lexa, nor was he as open and readable as Lincoln. She didn’t want to doubt his commitment to peace: after all, he’d almost ended up sacrificing one of his warriors for it. But a quiet voice in the back of her head whispered for her to be careful, to take precautions. The memory of the feast in Tondc was still fresh, and she didn’t want to raise a glass of poisoned wine to her lips.

Through the trees she caught her first glimpse of him - on horseback, evening sun breaking through the canopy of forest and bathing him in a golden glow. He rode a tall horse with spots of white peppering its nutmeg coat, and as he slowed it to a walk he patted its neck.

“ _ I have eyes on him,” _ Octavia reassured Abby from her ear, and Abby felt herself relax…if not completely, then at least a fraction. She didn’t doubt Octavia’s ability to defend her, but it was good to have a backup plan in case the sword on his hip made its way toward her neck.

Marcus appeared to spot her as he approached, guiding his horse by its reins as he strode through the brilliant green grass, boots squishing against the soft ground of the forest.

“Chancellor Griffin,” he said, only a few feet away. He was close enough for her to see the tiny smile that flitted across his lips, the expression of appreciation with which he regarded her. 

“Marcus,” Abby said, as the rider and horse came to a stop in front of her.

“Have you chosen to accept our invitation?” he asked. The waning light traced patterns on his tan leather vest, set the few chains that dripped from his shoulders to his chest aglow. Now, without his fear for his partner and his duplicity dominating her thoughts, there was a regal air to him. She could see him as a clan leader – as a ruler of his people.

“I have.”

He gave her that smile again, the same one she’d seen when he glimpsed her through the foliage. It was somehow inviting but not off-putting, kind but not overbearing. His brown eyes shone with genuine warmth.

“Excellent,” he said. “My people are eager to meet the leader of  _ Skaikru _ .”

Abby answered him with a nod, unsure of how else to respond. Marcus gave her a smaller smile of reassurance, then extended a hand to her.

“I’ll help you,” he said, seemingly sensing her hesitation.

Entwining his fingers with hers, he helped pull her up and she landed gently on the animal’s back. She had seen horses before, of course: first in pictures on the Ark, then in-person as  _ Trikru’s _ preferred method of transportation. But seeing them and sitting on them were two vastly different things, and though she was loath to do so, she realized she would have to wrap her arms around his waist to keep herself steady.

“ _ Ready when you are,”  _ Octavia said, tinny and metallic in her ear, and Abby audibly winced. At a farther distance she would’ve appreciated the girl’s support, but this close to Marcus…what if he heard her? How quickly could help turn to harm?

Marcus turned his head to glance back at her, taking the sound as an expression of nervousness. “It will not take long to arrive at our capitol,” he said. “You have nothing to fear.”

_ I hope that’s true,  _ Abby thought, tightening her grip around him as his horse began to move.

To Octavia in the woods, she gave a single nod.

_ I’m ready. _

As they began their procession through the twilight forest, it occurred to her she had no choice but to be.

* * *

“You have never ridden a horse before,” Marcus remarked as they traveled through the woods, the leaves and trees around them melting into a blur of green and brown. Abby spent much of the ride with her eyes closed, gripping _Idongeda’s_ clan leader with enough force to drain feeling from her fingers.  But how could he be sure they weren’t going to fall off? Granted, they weren’t moving too quickly. There were times, when she glanced around, that she caught Octavia sneaking through the brush at a slow jog. 

The open air all around her and constant shifting of the animal’s muscles beneath her made her stomach clench, and she found herself swallowing hard to keep her meager lunch from making a reappearance.

“No,” Abby answered, short, businesslike, a single word infused with professionalism and a pinch of terror. 

“They didn’t have horses where you came from?” Marcus asked jovially, a pointed attempt at either small talk or making a joke at her expense.

Abby knew the grounders didn’t quite understand space as a concept – the thought of making a life in the stars was foreign and outlandish to them as riding on the back of a horse was to her. On some level she’d always known it could be done, but she decided from now on that she would be walking when she needed to go from place to place.

“Not in space,” she answered, closing her eyes and willing her spinning stomach to slow down. “I’ve usually kept both feet on the ground.”

He laughed. “Then you haven’t had to travel far?”

Abby frowned. “I guess not.”

“ _Idongeda_ warriors begin training horses from a young age,” Marcus said. “By the time they are four years old, they are able to ride far longer distances than we will travel today.”

Abby remained quiet, listening to the wind ruffle leaves on branches that swayed overhead, wondering how she’d managed to be upstaged in bravery by his clan's toddlers.

“I only meant to assure you there is no danger,” Marcus added quickly, trying to allay the lull in conversation. Abby, with lips pursed, simply nodded in response. With her heart racing and her knuckles white, words failed her.

“ _ You can relax, Abby,”  _ Octavia muttered, sounding exasperated.  _ “He’s good with his horse.” _

If only relaxation were that simple, she thought. Thankfully, Marcus let her know his village was only a few minutes away.

“We can walk to the gates,” he suggested, and Abby wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful. 

They continued without speaking, and Abby slowly acclimated to the uncertainty inherent with being transported by an animal. If Octavia insisted he knew what he was doing, and she’d been taught by Lincoln…it would be idiotic not to trust her judgment. 

Slowly, she opened her eyes to the forest around them. There was something different about the area here than the woods surrounding Camp Jaha: it was brighter, more lush, scattered with electrifying greens and neon flowers that spiraled around dark brown tree trunks. Everything seemed to glow as they moved through the foliage, and the world sparkled around them in a blur of purple, blue, yellow, green and brown.

Earth’s beauty never ceased to amaze her. From the moment she’d arrived on the ground and tasted the sweetness of the open air, a chunk of her heart had been devoted to it -- to the planet she never thought she’d have a chance to glimpse. After all, she’d grown up with the knowledge that her generation was not to inherit the Earth. They were custodians, caretakers, equipping the next with knowledge and skill to make their way back to the surface when the time was right.

If someone had told her even a month ago that she’d find herself on horseback with a man whose people had survived the radiation, she would have considered sending them for a psych evaluation. Now, with her arms around the  _ Idongeda _ clan leader and a sprawling forest of brilliant, neon plants close enough for her to reach out and touch, she marveled at how drastically her life had veered from the path she’d laid for it.

Her grip on Marcus relaxed, and she felt some tension drain from his shoulders. Marcus hadn’t mentioned it, but she guessed he hadn’t been comfortable. Gradually the horse slowed to a walk, and then a complete stop.

“We will go the rest of the way on foot,” Marcus said, sliding off the animal and giving it a gentle pat on its neck. The horse nuzzled him playfully, and he smiled, stroking its coat.

“ _ Os hana, Kika _ ,” he said, and the horse responded with a quiet whinny.

A smile flickered across her lips before she could force it down. Part of her wanted to be able to trust him implicitly, having already witnessed the depth of his affection the night before. But she had also witnessed his capacity for circumventing the truth, and didn’t want to fall headlong into another trap. Which Marcus was the true leader of  _ Idongeda _ \- the man who begged her to save his friend’s life, or the man who convinced her he didn’t speak English?

“ _ Abby, you don’t have all day,”  _ Octavia hissed in her ear, and having momentarily forgotten the invisible third member of her excursion, Abby jumped.

“Are you all right?” Marcus asked, diverting his attention from his horse to his companion. Apparently even her smallest flinch didn’t escape him.

“Fine,” she answered. He extended a hand to help her down, but she managed to slide off the horse’s back without assistance, landing with a graceless  _ thud  _ on a wet canopy of green leaves beneath her boots. Upon regaining her balance she straightened her back and looked Marcus in the eye, determined to show him his knowledge of the woods and the world around them would not be enough to intimidate her. She would not bow to his demands, if any were made: her first, and only, duty was to her people. And, for now, their alliance with  _ Trikru _ .

“ _ I have eyes on you,”  _ Octavia reassured her.  _ “If he tries to pull anything, I’m ready.” _

“ _ Skaifiyakapa _ is not far from here,” Marcus said, holding his horse’s reins in one hand and beckoning for her to follow with the other.

“ _ Skaifiyakapa _ ?” Abby asked as they began to move, stepping through the darkness dripping down from the purple sky.

“In your words, ‘Starlight City,’” Marcus said. “You will understand why when night falls.”

So, she’d probably still be alive by nightfall. Not unpleasant news, she thought.

They walked in silence for a time, Abby content to listen to the forest around them and take in the sights of the planet she had never been able to explore. Someday, she thought – if she were lucky enough – she might venture out into it, discover what beauty Earth held beyond her tiny corner of metal and wooden fences. Sometimes she envied the grounders their ability to travel, their knowledge of the planet. Though it had kept them alive, there was nothing beautiful about the Ark; here on Earth, every inch teemed with things unexplored, with mystery, with possibility. Where the Ark radiated death, the ground radiated life.

Abruptly, as if pausing on the edge of a force field, Marcus stopped and turned back to her.

“I have a favor to ask before we enter,” he said, keeping his voice low, as if he were afraid of being overheard.

Abby stiffened. “What?”

He gave a quiet sigh, breaking eye contact for a moment to glance into the woods. After a few seconds, he returned his attention to her.

“I need you to call off your guard.”

Abby’s breath caught, and she felt her palms begin to sweat. Octavia had been nothing but careful during their journey: if she and Marcus’ roles were reversed, Abby knew she wouldn’t have noticed anything out of place. But since Marcus had grown up in these woods, he knew every rock, tree and branch. A rustle, to him, would sound like gunfire.

Could she feign cluelessness? If he was being genuine in his offer of peace, she’d already breached the contract. But then again, he could hardly fault her for taking precautions. Camp Jaha was on the brink of war, balanced on the knife’s edge, and such volatile circumstances made it nearly impossible to fully trust anyone.  Her decision to allow Octavia to accompany her wasn’t personal, a commentary on his character or the alliance they would make: it was a necessity to ensure she returned to her people unharmed. As  _ Idongeda’s _ leader, she hoped he could understand.

They certainly didn’t need to make an enemy out of his clan. And yet…if she showed her hand, what would become of Octavia? Were there warriors waiting in the woods, ready to capture her?

With the girl’s safety in question, her choice became clear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abby said firmly, staring Marcus in his deep brown eyes. She glimpsed something spark in them – amusement? – and the corner of his mouth quirked upward as he regarded her in the golden evening light.

“Chancellor Griffin,” he said, taking a step toward her. She stepped back involuntarily, desperate to keep space between them. Her heartbeat was a war drum. “Are we to build our peace on a foundation of lies?”

He knew, she realized, a chill rushing through her that had little to do with the cooling air. He knew she’d ordered Octavia to protect her, and he was more than willing to call her bluff.

“That’s not what I want,” Abby replied testily, fighting the urge to wipe her sweaty palms on her pants. Every noise, from the chirping of the crickets to the sound of her own breath in her throat, felt amplified, deafening her as the world moved too quickly for her to strategize her next steps. “But you haven’t made it easy.”

“I understand,” he said, stunning her yet again. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, the rage she’d convinced herself she’d face for so openly deceiving him, this fell far from those conclusions. “You needed to be certain of your safety. But our warriors aren’t expecting you to have brought a bodyguard. She will not be harmed, but she cannot enter the city.”

Abby bristled. “She wasn’t going to go inside unless I told her to. I wasn’t trying to sabotage our agreement, Marcus. Believe it or not, I want this to work as much as you do.”

He gave her a knowing, if exasperated, smirk as he took a step closer to her. “And for our agreement to work, it needs to at least appear that we trust each other.”

With nothing to say, Abby just stared at him. The longer she remained here, the less she trusted the man before her. But what could she do? Octavia was able to traverse the distance between Camp Jaha and his city on foot, but she couldn’t. Plentiful dangers lurked in the shadowy woods after dark, not the least of which would be her inability to find her way home without any proper equipment. Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck with Marcus.

Sensing her hesitation he kept going, softening his tone and leaning closer.

“But nothing will happen to you tonight,” he said, not breaking eye contact, sanding down the sharp edges of frustration she’d heard from him moments before. “You will return home safely to your people, Chancellor Griffin. I give you my word.”

As if on cue, her earpiece crackled.

“ _ The hell are you guys doing?”  _ Octavia said.  _ “I thought you would’ve gone into the village by now.” _

Abby sighed, desperately hoping that placing her trust in this man didn’t result in dire consequences. Giving Marcus a long, measured look, she spoke to Octavia without breaking eye contact.

“Octavia, go home,” she said, readying herself for the oncoming outburst. She didn’t have long to wait. 

“ _ No!”  _ the girl hissed.  _ “You need someone here, Abby. That’s what  Clarke decided.” _

“There’s been a change of plans,” she admitted, thinking that probably came closest to the truth. “Showing up with a guard would send the wrong message. Tell Clarke I’ll be okay.”

With that, she heard a crackling of the brush behind her, snapping of twigs and rustling of papery, dewy leaves: Octavia had decided to come out of hiding.

Abby turned back to Marcus, trying to gauge his reaction. Unsurprisingly, he remained steadfast, unbothered, as though he’d expected the girl to emerge from hiding since he first noticed her following them.

“I’m not leaving,” Octavia spat, shooting Marcus a fiery glare as she approached. “We made a plan, and I’m sticking to it. No matter what he says.”

“Octavia,” Abby said, suddenly overwhelmed. Between the uncertainty surrounding this feast, the immediacy of the treaty, and the ever-present stress of going to war, what remained of her nerves would be ground to dust before the night ended. “As your Chancellor, I’m ordering you to go back to Camp Jaha.”

Abby watched as the girl’s hand moved toward her sword, and instinctively, every muscle in her body tensed. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might attack Marcus, but in hindsight, she realized she should have seen it coming. 

Marcus must have seen her reach for her weapon, because he chose that moment to involve himself in the discussion.

“No harm will come to her on my watch, _Octevia_ _ kom Skaikru _ ,” he said, slowly extending the hand that wasn’t holding his horse’s reins, leaving it in the air between them, a visual question mark. A t the sound of her name in Trigedasleng, some of the tension radiating from Octavia evaporated. Her fingers slipped away from the leather-bound handle of her weapon, although concern glittered in her green eyes.

“Swear it,” she said, the set of her jaw and empty expression reminding Abby, if faintly, of the woman currently mentoring her. “On your honor.”

If Abby knew anything about grounder culture, it was that oaths were respected. And though she didn’t always agree with Octavia’s methods, Abby had to respect them.  She glanced at Marcus, finding that half-smile, again: Octavia was impulsive, but it seemed she had earned some respect from the leader of the Eden People. 

“You have my solemn word as clan leader. Your Chancellor is under my protection, and I will return her to you before first light.”

Gradually – as though fighting her own uncertainties on the matter – Octavia raised her arm and clasped Marcus’ forearm in a firm, brief grounder handshake.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Octavia muttered in Abby’s direction as she broke away and turned to go, pulling Lincoln’s map out of her scuffed jacket.

With one last, searing glare at the pair of them, Octavia turned, stiff as a wooden plank, and began striding back through the forest. It occurred to Abby she would have no proof that Octavia adhered to her word: she could just as easily run out of their line of sight and make her way back toward the boundary again. But that was one worry too many for her already overworked mind to shoulder. 

It wasn’t long before Octavia Blake was nothing more than a speck of black on the green canvas of the surrounding forest, and Abby turned back to Marcus.

“You told me to call off my guard,” she said. “She’s gone.”

Marcus, who had been watching Octavia, returned his gaze to Abby.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding relieved.

They continued their procession in silence as the tall, metal barrier came into view. The closer she came, the more detail she was able to take in.  _ Skaifiyakapa _ was surrounded by a rusted metal wall not unlike the one she hoped they could construct for Camp Jaha someday. Idongeda’s people had nailed together various street signs, sheet metal, and debris to create a calico conglomerate of differing shades, textures, and thicknesses of metal. Some components were still silver, others rusted yellow-gold, some brown: all doing their job of keeping the city safe.

The forest waned as they approached, and as the gate appeared in the patchwork of the wall, Marcus, still leading his horse, came to a stop under a wooden archway formed from two small trees. They bent at an angle, branches leaning toward each other just enough to touch, leaves blurring together to form the tip of the semi-circle under which he stood. Abby, only a few steps behind despite her yearning to take in every detail, stopped with him.

“If you have any weapons, leave them here,” he said, smoothing his order to make it sound like a request between friends. As Chancellor, Abby could see it for what it was.

“I don’t,” she said. Then, on an impulse, because she was nervous and terrified and crackling with anticipation, she added dryly, “you already took my guard away.”

For a fraction of a moment, her heart sank. She wouldn’t have dared to joke in the presence of Lexa or Indra, but something felt different about Marcus – a fundamental softness existed with him where the other two felt cold, harsh, brazen. Nonetheless, her statement had slipped out, and she could only wait to see if it would be taken seriously. 

Instead Marcus laughed, a short, brief, amused chuckle that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. His eyes sparkled as he regarded her, and relieved, Abby felt a smile spread across her lips. Apparently, Idongeda’s leader had a sense of humor.

“Next time, make me aware you intend to bring one,” Marcus said, “though I hope you will not deem it necessary.”

Abby nodded – she hoped it wouldn’t be, and he had tonight to prove her wrong.

“I will need to check you, though I trust your word,” Marcus said, a hint of an apology hiding in his tone. It was clear that for the same reason she’d thought to bring Octavia, he would need to ensure she wasn’t hiding anything beneath her tattered jacket.

“I understand,” Abby said, more than ready to get the ordeal over with.

He touched her quickly, his hands barely sweeping over the fabric of her jacket, shirt, and jeans. She stiffened when his fingers moved down her back, pressing lightly, searching for a knife or gun they would not find.  A rush of heat flooded through her when his hands moved down her sides, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake, and she decided to blame her circumstances and embarrassment for the reaction. Her cheeks burned, her heartbeat escalated; if she were lucky, he wouldn’t notice a change in her demeanor.

“Good,” he said, and she couldn’t help noticing the hitch in his voice – a physical display of how she currently felt. Some barrier between them had been crossed, it seemed: a physicality initiated by circumstance, carried out by duty, a brief burden neither party seemed to desire.

“Follow me,” he added, as though she hadn’t been doing that for the majority of the evening, and as the sunlight caught his tanned cheeks she thought she glimpsed a hint of pink on them. At least she wasn’t the only one jarred by the experience, she thought.

At long last they stood before the gate, a swinging hinge in the sheet metal by which another grounder kept watch. When he glimpsed Marcus he smiled, and Abby felt an itch of confusion begin irking her. She knew him, somehow, but she couldn’t quite place him. Why did he seem familiar?

He was no older than Clarke, certainly. A light beard brushed over his chin and jawline, though it had not matured in full, leaving the lower half of his face brushed with a dark black fuzz. His eyes were a similar dark brown as those of his clan leader, and when he looked at her, the puzzle of their familiarity clicked into place. This was the boy she had treated, only a day earlier.

“ _ Monin, _ ” he said, raising his arm to take the reins of Marcus’ horse.

“Welcome,” Marcus translated for her, or remarked for himself – she couldn’t be certain.

“Does he…” she paused.

“He speaks English,” he said. “Across clans, all our warriors and leaders do.”

At that, the boy switched languages, regarding Abby with one hand holding Marcus’ horse and the other on the handle for the gate.

“You saved my life,” he said, his eyes bright with gratitude. “ _ Mochof _ .”

Abby didn’t understand the word, but she comprehended the meaning.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m happy you’re all right.”

“He was told not to join me,” Marcus said, his tone flat, disapproving. “Blame for any injuries he sustained lies with him alone.”

The boy smirked. “If I hadn’t,  you would’ve been hurt,” he said, staring at Marcus. “ _ Yu beda mochme _ , Marcus.”

Marcus stiffened a bit, although Abby observed the tiniest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I will not thank you for disobeying me,” Marcus said, stern. “You are fortunate Chancellor Griffin was willing to help you. Others may not have been so sympathetic.”

Abby took the opportunity to introduce herself, seeing as Marcus appeared too engrossed in his lecture to do it himself.

“I’m Abby Griffin,” she said, extending a hand. “Chancellor of the Sky People.”

The guard (or the grounder warrior) removed his hand from the gate, reaching forward to give hers a firm shake.

“Miller _kom Idongeda_ ,” he said, eyes twinkling with a combination of good humor and mischief. “I am a warrior, although Marcus would have me stay inside the walls instead of fighting.”

“We must enter now,” Marcus said, dodging the boy’s implication. “The feast awaits us.”

The boy’s face fell; apparently, his penance had been keeping watch while the rest of his people engaged in merriment. Abby almost felt sorry for him – he’d only been trying to protect their clan leader, and had been punished as a result. Then again, she knew her fair share of disobedient teenagers.

Miller, apparently seeing no point in teasing Marcus further, settled for giving him a pointed look and turning back to the gate. Abby watched as he rummaged in the pocket of his jacket for a key made of tarnished silver and inserted it into the lock, turning it until a soft  _ click _ sounded. Then, pressing his free hand against the gate, he pushed it open.

“Enjoy,” Miller said, still staring forlornly at Marcus, who gave his horse a final comforting pat and ignored Miller completely. Abby, a few steps behind, gave him a sympathetic look; if she could, she decided she’d bring Miller some food on her way out.

Marcus was the first to step through the gate, casting a backward glance at her as if to ensure she was following. Moving slowly, as though in a dream, Abby took three steps and found herself in a new world.

“Welcome to  _ Skaifiyakapa _ ,” Marcus said.


End file.
